Draco turns around fully, nostrils flared now. “Don’t say that shit around me.” He storms past me, into the closet.

I turn with him. “Well, I did love him. And you can’t change that, Draco.”

“No?” He tugs down a white T-shirt from a neatly folded stack, picking up a pair of jeans next, and then walking around me to place the clothes down on the bed. When he’s done with that, he looks at me again and steps closer.

His hand wraps around the back of my neck and he reels me in. His mouth runs across mine and a buzz rides through my body. The buzz is hot and thick and hard to ignore, making my skin tingle. He hasn’t touched me like this in a long time. Not since what happened in the cellar. “You loved a man that didn’t love you, Gianna,” he murmurs when his lips come up to my ear.

I snatch my body away from him. “You don’t know what we had.”

“A hit man like Trigger Toni is incapable of love. If you made him angry enough, he would have probably killed you too.”

“Shut up,” I snap.

“It’s the truth and you know it. You’ve seen him react. He proved himself quite dangerous, no?”

“Shut up!”

Draco grimaces and jerks me forward again. He grabs my hair and wrenches my head back with a heavy tug. He does it so my mouth is angled up and my eyes are only on him.

“I see you got some of your fire back.” He smirks and I want to slap it right off of his beautifully twisted face. “The sooner you get over him, the better, niñita.”

“You’re not ready to know how just yet.” He snatches his hand away and walks to the bathroom again. He unbuttons his khakis and they drop down around his ankles. When he reaches for the hem of his briefs and his eyes meet mine, I jerk my gaze away and walk to my side of the bed.

I hear the shower door open and then close. There is an uncomfortable silence . . . for a while anyway.

“Gianna. Come here,” he calls.

I frown, looking toward the bathroom. “Why?”

“Come. Now.”

Rolling my eyes, I walk to the bathroom, spotting his opaque silhouette from the doorway.

“Shut the door.”

I shut it, but don’t come any closer.

“Get undressed and come in the shower with me.”

“I already took one this morning,” I respond with folded arms.

“Well, come and take another one. I won’t say it again.”

I can’t help the second roll of my eyes. He stands beneath the stream and pushes his wet hair out of his face.

I can’t fight. I can’t resist. I have to remember that. I need him wrapped around my finger, and that starts with doing whatever he wants me to do. For right now, anyway.

He already has people calling me Patrona. Their boss? That’s progress.

I get undressed rather slowly and then make my way to the shower door. He pushes it open, welcoming me in without saying a word. His hard eyes travel up and down my body, locking on my breasts and especially the area between my thighs.

He steps beneath the water so I can get in. I watch it cascade over him and his hard, sculpted muscles, but his eyes are still open. It falls through his hair and down his face, running over his full lips and flared nostrils.

He always looks so serious and hostile, even during the calm moments. I’m starting to think that’s just the way his face was made.

I close the shower door and as soon as I do, he steps forward and wraps his hands around my middle. He pulls me back into him, and I feel his hard cock pressing on my ass.

He grabs the back of my thigh and forces my knee on the wall. His cock slides between the crack of my ass, and he lowers himself, wrenching my legs apart so that his tip is pressing on the entrance of my pussy.

“I’m going to fuck you,” he grumbles, deep and heavy. “Because you need it.” He kisses the top of my ear and I shudder. “I know you do.”

He grips my waist tight with one hand and uses the other to press it on the back of my head. He forces my forehead on the wall, and a ragged breath passes through me when I feel him slowly entering me.

Each slow, measured thrust fills me up, and I don’t know why his patience bothers me. His hands are aggressive, pinning me to this shower wall, but the fact that he’s taking his time to “fuck” me bothers me.

He needs to be hard and rough.

He needs to keep making me hate him.

I don’t need delicacy right now.

I need fire and fuel and something deep down is telling me that he knows it. But he won’t provide it because he loves having control over my needs.

He strokes slowly, releasing my waist and bringing that hand up to cup one of my breasts. He lets my head go so he can spread my ass and sink his cock in deeper. A deep groan rattles in his throat. I feel the vibration of it on my shoulder.

“Draco,” I call, my voice shaky. Not from fear, but from pure euphoria. I don’t know why I call him, but he answers.

“Sí, mi reina,” he murmurs, picking up speed. Skin slaps and water splashes between us.

“Stop,” I moan.

“No.” His hand comes up to the back of my neck and he holds it tight. “I won’t stop.” He growls deep, stroking in faster, drilling me even harder from behind.

“Oh, God,” I breathe, eyes squeezing shut.

Pulling his hand away, he turns my head sideways so that my cheek is on the wall now, instead of my forehead. Droplets of water collect on my skin, my lips.

“Look back,” he demands, “right at me.”

I squeeze my eyes tighter instead, but he pulls my hair, yanking it back and leaving me no choice but to look at him.

When hard brown matches green, he leans in and crushes my lips with his. His hard chest rests on my back, his thick cock still filling me up. In and out he goes, while his tongue works its magic with mine.

His body is glued to me and my leg is hitched up, my knee pressed on the wall to help keep balance. His hips works in circles, giving long, full thrusts now, like a rhythmic pattern, and at first I hate it, that he’s touching me like this—claiming my body as if it’s his own, but then he pulls his lips away from mine and says, “I will make you forget it all. What happened only days ago. Your ex. Everything. I will make it so that all you think about while you’re here is me, Gianna, and that is my fucking word.”

His wet mouth is on my ear, his breath warm as it trickles past. He reaches around and grazes his middle finger across my clit, cupping my pussy in his hands and forcing my hips back to bury himself even deeper.

A whimper escapes me from that action alone. The back of my head drops down on top of his shoulder and he presses those full lips to my neck, sucking away the droplets of warm water and replacing them with burning hot kisses.

His body stiffens behind me and then he sighs loud and deep, thrusting hard into my pussy several times before emptying himself inside me.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good. I’ve waited for you for so long, niñita.” He brings a hand up and rakes his fingers through my hair. “It feels a hundred times better than I imagined it would feel.”

He finally pulls out and spins me around. I stare up at him, watching water coat his thick eyelashes.

“Mine,” he says, his lips so close I can feel the heat of them. “Say it. You are mine.”

I release a tattered breath as he glides a hand down my hip and cups my ass. He hauls me closer so I can really feel him, the water drifting down, sliding on our skin.

I don’t want to say it, but he doesn’t look away. And he won’t pull away until I do. I know I can’t deny it now.

“I am yours,” I whisper, and then I grip his face in my hands, leaving him no choice but to pick me up in his arms and hold me in his large hands.

I didn’t think it would be possible to steal Draco’s breath away, but when I do this—kiss him so deep and tenderly, as if I care—I hear him sigh and groan and shudder beneath the embrace.

I feel him let go and melt, even if the feeling is faint and slight. I feel him, and when my tongue slides between his lips and dances with his, that’s when I know I have him.

All of him.

He thinks I am his. Truthfully, he has it backwards.

I am not his.

He is mine.

Shanora Williams is a twenty-something-year-old who creates raw, authentic romantic stories that, may or may not, make you question what a “Happily Ever After” truly is. After hitting the New York Times and USA Today bestsellers list at the mere age of nineteen, Shanora ventured further into the creative writing world, working even harder to create unique and memorable romances for all to enjoy.

She currently lives in Charlotte, North Carolina, will be the mother of two amazing boys, has a devoted and supportive man, and is a sister to eleven.

When she isn’t writing, she’s spending time with her family, binge reading, or running marathons on Netflix while scarfing down anything sweet and salty.